


ENGvSA

by harlequin87



Series: RWC 2019 [1]
Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: 3+1, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: Progression of a relationship.Or, three matches against South Africa which meant a lot, and one which meant more.
Relationships: Owen Farrell/George Ford
Series: RWC 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597744
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	ENGvSA

1\. 7 August 2009

“It was a good ending, right?” George asked Owen, their faces half-lit by the headlights of the cars travelling the other way, away from the airport. “It was a good note for you all to end on?”

Owen could hear the desperation hidden in his friend’s tone. As hushed as his voice was to avoid waking their sleeping teammates, there was an undeniable quiver replacing the usual firmness. “Yes, mate,” he said quietly. “Thank you for everything – like, on the pitch, obviously, but also for the last few years. This team wouldn’t have been the same without you.” George sighed, turning away to look out the window. Owen poked him on the arm. “I mean it, honestly. Twenty points today, and the best few weeks of my life.”

The younger boy shrugged. “You’re welcome. Just don’t forget about me when you’re up in the big leagues and I’m still slogging away in juniors.”  
Owen shifted closer, tentatively putting his arm around George’s shoulders. They weren’t usually touchy friends, but it felt necessary in the moment. “Mate. I know there are no guarantees, but I bet you’ll be playing for the Tigers first team in a few months. Maybe not England U20s next season, but still.” He tugged him tighter to his chest for a second. “You’re sixteen years old,” he whispered into George’s ear. “You’re doing better than we all were at sixteen, yeah? It’s just a break for a bit so you can get your experience up.”

George twisted in his grip and Owen panicked before his friend settled back against him, apparently more comfortable like that. “I hope you’re right,” he whispered back. “I’m doing everything I can, but then I look at pretty much everyone else here and they’re going back to full-time rugby. I’ve still got to do bloody A-levels.”  
Owen snorted, despite himself. “I’d forgotten about that – it’s results day next week. Can’t wait!” Even George was roused from his foul mood by the sarcasm.

“How much offseason are Sarries giving you?” he asked with interest. “You’re still seventeen for the next few weeks, so some child protection stuff has got to apply, right?”  
Owen hummed. He hadn’t actually considered that. “I suppose so. Dad being a coach probably rules that out, though. As far as I know, I’ve got until the second week of September – not long, but enough.”  
George nodded. “You’re got to work for all that money they’re giving you.”  
Owen grinned, ruffling George’s hair. “Trust me, I will.”

“You can take me out on that big salary of yours,” George continued, sniggering.

When Owen replied, he was completely serious. “If you’d like to, then of course I’ll take you out.”  
George looked up at him, eyes wide, from where he was snuggled into his chest. “Really? I mean, I was joking, but…”  
Steeling his nerve, the older boy reached for George’s hand. “Really. I can drive up and we can go and see a film before term starts, something like that.”

George rolled his eyes, trying to hide his nervousness. “Sure, as long as you can show off your driver’s licence and your lovely shiny car to the sixteen-year-old.”  
Owen blinked at him. “Seriously, though – do you want to?”

George looked around furtively, then tightened his hold on Owen’s hand. “I’d love to,” he said shyly, blush discernible even in the dimly-lit coach.

Owen hooked his chin over George’s shoulder so he could whisper into his ear. “That’s good. I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages, but I thought it would be creepy, so I’m glad you brought it up first.”  
George scoffed. “It’s not creepy – you’re only eighteen months older! And if you judge it by experiences, then we’re pretty much on the same level.” He grew serious again. “Anyway, this will just make sure we keep in touch while I catch up to you in U20s and we can reunite the trusty Ford-Farrell axis.”

Owen pressed a quick kiss to the side of his head. “I think sixteen is a bit late for a growth spurt, mate.” He laughed at George’s indignant protests. “But as you were saying earlier, mate – it was a good ending, but it’s the beginning of something even better.”

2\. 23 June 2012

Owen sat in the locker room after the final game of the series, stewing. Okay, so this match had gone better than the two previous ones in that it hadn’t been an outright loss. On the other hand, he’d missed two drop goals which could have pulled them ahead of the Springboks. He thunked his head back against the wall. What a waste of time.

The phone he was absent-mindedly spinning in his hands lit up with a sudden buzz, shaking him from his stupor. Quickly checking that nobody was watching, he stood up and slipped out into the corridor outside. He couldn’t be too long – the bus was leaving in twenty minutes – but he needed to talk to his boyfriend.

“Hey, babe,” George said softly, voice crackling through the phone over eight thousand miles of static. “I saw the score.”  
Owen growled. “At least you didn’t see the actual game. We played like shit. Especially me. Two penalties, woohoo, still missed two drop goals.” He sighed, anger draining from him. “I’m sorry. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Aww, has it been tough being stuck with all those southerners?” George cooed, knowing just how to distract Owen from the thunder inside his head.

“Horrendous,” he grumbled good-humouredly. “They all seem to have these thoughts about this imaginary thing on the pitch called _grarss_. Nutters, the lot of them.”  
“Eee, our kid,” George said, playing up his accent for all he was worth, “we all know the only thing on’t pitch is’t grass and’t posts. Damn southern ponces.”

Owen laughed despite himself. “Alright, love. I’ll be sure to tell them that.” His boyfriend snorted. “I should probably go. Bus leaves in – I don’t know how long, my phone doesn’t do the time and calls simulataneously, but soon.”  
“That’s what happens if you have a flip phone!” George sing-songed.  
“We can’t all have fancy iPhone 4s, mate,” Owen grouched. “Anyway, I miss you, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Monday,” George promised. “See you then – I love you – bye-”

“Hang on,” Owen interrupted. “What did you just say?”

George let out a noise that could easily be described as a squeak. “Goodbye?”

Owen felt a warmth creep into his chest which hadn’t been present for the whole of this godforsaken tour. “Just before that, mate.”  
“I might have said,” he started slowly, voice climbing higher and higher with nerves, “that I love you?”

Owen grinned, pressing his face against the wall with happiness. “I love you too, babe. Really bad timing, but I absolutely have to go now. See you Monday, G.”  
“Bye, babe.”

Owen screwed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to kick his feet with glee like his little brother would. This trip hadn’t been a complete waste of time, then.  
  


3\. 12 November 2016

“You know what the best part of all this is?” George said, looking up from where his head was resting in Owen’s lap. “I mean, obviously we beat the Boks, but – we’re still on target for an unbeaten year!”  
Owen ran his fingers through George’s hair, smoothing it down. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Who’d’ve thought, eh? It was, what, twelve and a half months ago when we were knocked out of the pool?” George nodded, closing his eyes against the memories. “And now – second in the world, Grand Slam winners…”

“It makes you think, doesn’t it,” George murmured. “If we’d had Eddie a year earlier, I bet we would’ve got out of the pool if nothing else.”  
Owen hummed, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend’s forehead. “But if we got to the quarterfinals, maybe we wouldn’t have Eddie at all.” They both pulled a face. “Blessing in disguise, I reckon – or at least a silver lining.”

George reached up and tugged Owen down so he was lying next to Owen on their bed. It was only a few hours after the match against South Africa; they should probably be doing recovery stretches or something like that. Curling into his boyfriend’s side, Owen knew that this post-match chat with George was more useful than any physical rehabilitation he could attempt. They’d been through so much together and apart. Nobody knew the mental scars Owen carried as well as George, and he was the only person with such an intimate knowledge of the younger man’s hopes and dreams. They needed each other, was the long and short of it.  
  


George sighed, a yawn breaking out halfway. “I don’t want to sound cocky – there’s another three years to go – but the way we are now, I think we could go all the way in Japan.”

Owen savoured the secret, whispered into the small space between them. “I do too,” he murmured, joining their hands in a pledge. “You and me. We can take this team to the final. It’ll be the All Blacks in the semis, and then whoever’s after that will be too scared to fight back. I promise you, love.”

George leaned over the side of the bed to knock on the wood of the bedside table, making Owen huff out a laugh. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, babe. How about we commit to giving it our best shot, as a squad, and end up in the final? Then it’s all in our own hands.” He moved forward and whispered in Owen’s ear. “Then we’ll win, but don’t tell anyone else that. It’s got to be a surprise.” He pulled back and kissed the hopeful smile on Owen’s face.

Owen wriggled around until George was spooning him. Once he was secure in his boyfriend’s arms, he spoke again, still in that same low, private tone. “When we win against Fiji next week, that won’t be a surprise, though.”

George squeezed his hand. “Well, given we both scored a try today – want to bet on how many points you get next week?”

Owen – no other word for it – giggled. “Eddie said he wants us to focus on tries, though, not kicking for points.”

“Still,” George said, bringing their entwined hands up to press against his cheek. “How many do you think?”

Owen shrugged. George knew he would be blushing without even looking. “Ten?”

“Alright. I’ll go – twenty. Whoever’s closest gets breakfast in bed the next day.”

Owen kissed George’s fingers. “Deal. I’m looking forward to it already.”

+1. 2 November 2019

Standing out on the pitch in Yokohama, George felt empty. When people – friends, family, the inevitable journalists – asked later what was going through his mind, he could be almost honest and say that there was nothing. Everything had been wiped away by the gradual, painful, crushing realisation that there was nothing to be done to salvage the game and their dream.

The only thing still in his mind was that casual, throwaway conversation in bed three years ago, Owen confidently asserting that they would blow past New Zealand and take on whoever they found opposing them in the final. At least the first part of his prediction had been true.

He sighed, tugging at his hair. It wasn’t even in anger; he just needed to feel something, anything. This time last week, they hadn’t celebrated too much because they wanted to stay motivated for the big game. Now he found himself wishing that they had commemorated the occasion a bit more. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence – hell, if it happened once more in his life, George would be ecstatic. But last week had been a subdued locker room, and now it would be even worse.

The team trudged across the stage to collect their second-place medals, and George could barely stand to touch it. The rest of the squad seemed equally numb, shocked into silence as the fruits of their labours had been snatched away by the Springboks. What was left? Only another grinding four-year cycle until France.

He heard a choked-off sob behind him and turned around. Tom was stood there, biting his lip and clenching his fists. George immediately moved to him and wrapped him in a hug. The lad was only twenty-one – it wasn’t fair to leave him to deal with his first major setback alone. “Hey, Curry,” he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down the forward’s back in a soothing motion. “You couldn’t have done anything more. We’re all so proud of you.”

George felt a tap on his shoulder and looked round to see Joe and Dan, with Sam awkwardly off to one side. “We’ll look after this one,” Joe said roughly, patting his shoulder. “Go and take care of your man. He needs it.” Reluctantly, George handed Tom over to his fellow forwards and went over to his boyfriend.

He wrapped his arm around Owen’s waist as they watched Kolisi raise the Webb Ellis Cup, his team yelling and shouting. George rested his head against the other man’s chest. “I’m still really proud of what we achieved,” he said softly, staring at the fireworks celebrating someone else’s victory. “Especially you. I know being captain hasn’t been the easiest for you at times, but everyone in the squad respects you and knows how hard you work for us.”

Owen finally moved against him, bringing a hand to clasp at his hip, and George could breathe a sigh of relief. The mask had been broken. “I love you too,” his captain and boyfriend said quietly, voice piercing through the triumphant music of the PA. “Even when you were on the bench – you did more than you could ever know.” He tightened his grip. “I love you so much.”

Eventually, somebody gave them the nod to leave the field. George couldn’t wait. He just needed to get his boyfriend in private and try to fill the void inside them both with loving words and kisses. God knows they both needed it.

Of course, Owen had to stumble through a halting speech first, trying to comfort and lift the spirits of their teammates while feeling none of that warmth himself. Eddie said a few words, and George pulled Ben and Jonny closer to him in the huddle. He was in serious danger of crying if anyone else tried to make him feel better.

Finally – and not a moment too soon – the circle broke up. George headed straight for the showers, needing to regain his composure. Slowly washing himself, removing the dirt and – ha – blood, sweat, and tears of the match, he grew warmer. Now he was able to recognise the truth and bleak honesty of his words to Owen, and in those his boyfriend had offered in return.

Clean and dressed, George emerged to find Jonny holding court among the visiting dignitaries. Of course Prince Harry and the RFU President wouldn’t be able to extract themselves from his bonkers clutches, even as deflated as he was. He nodded at Harry, sharing a grimace, and started packing up his kit from where it was strewn around the floor and his locker.

Owen came out a few minutes later, as George was slowly reading through the messages of commiseration and consolation on his phone. “You alright?” he asked, looking up with a small smile.

“Doing better,” Owen said, shrugging. “Look – can I talk to you?” George didn’t have the energy for a sarcastic response, so he just nodded.

“Okay,” Owen continued, sitting down next to his boyfriend and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “I know this wasn’t the ideal outcome of today, but…” He broke off, and George shuffled closer until their shoulders were pressed together. “Right. So, we’ve spent the last four months together, pretty much every hour of every day, and then dated for ten years before that, and known each other for about fifteen years.” George felt his mouth drop open. This couldn’t be – he wouldn’t-

“Ever since I met you, when you were a scrawny twelve-year-old in an ugly scrum cap, there was something about you which made me want to be close to you, to get to know you better. Maybe there were a few years when we didn’t talk as much, especially when you moved down south, but I still thought about you every day.” George pushed himself impossibly closer to Owen, wanting to hear more. “I’ve loved you for years and years and years, Georgie, and I promise that I will love you for all the years to come – through the highs and the lows and the extra-lows like losing a World Cup final-” a laugh rippled around the room, and George realised that everyone else was hanging on to Owen’s words too- “and even if you want to switch to league, I will be with you, if you’ll have me.”

George’s hands flew to his mouth as Owen slid to the floor, kneeling down and holding out a box with a ring. He couldn’t believe it. In front of Prince Harry-!

“George Thomas Ford, will you marry me?”

Without knowing how it happened, George was on the muddy floor of the locker room too, kissing Owen desperately. “Of course I will, Owen. I love you, so much,” he gasped out between kisses.

Slowly the cheering of the team filtered through to George’s overwhelmed brain and he buried his red face into Owen’s – his _fiancé’s_ – shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that, babe,” he murmured. “I mean, wow. That’s one way to distract the lads.”

Owen lifted his head and gently kissed his forehead. “I was going to do it anyway. Obviously it would have been better if we’d won, but it seems to have made you feel better.”

George hugged him even tighter. “God, I love you,” he repeated. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Is this going to be in the last Rising Sons episode now?”

Owen grinned, face wet with tears. “If you want it to be. I didn’t tell anyone I was planning this, but they’re good at noticing what’s going on and filming it. Also – if you’re ready to come out, this is as good a way as any.”

George choked out a laugh. “Well, seen as Prince Harry knows… I want to tell my mum first, but that’s fine. There are more important things in life than rugby sometimes.”

Owen kissed him. “That there are, love. Fuck the Boks – we’re engaged, so who are the real winners here?”

George smiled at him helplessly. “I love you.”

[@george_fordy: Lastly my family, regardless of what’s going on you’re there. The reason I play the game. I can’t thank you enough. 🌹](https://www.instagram.com/p/B4cLY9YFIQL/)

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this [actual time capsule](https://www.rugbynetwork.net/boards/read/s245.htm?387,10738721) I came across while doing research!  
> I hope you liked it, and that the World Cup pain is starting to ease - just in time for the Six Nations...


End file.
